


Streaks of Orange and Deep Blue

by phoenician



Series: Explosions in the Sky [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Eleventh Doctor Era, Episode: s05e10 Vincent and the Doctor, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, References to Depression, Romance, Sex in a TARDIS, TARDIS Rooms, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 04:43:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12697605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenician/pseuds/phoenician
Summary: "This isn't about history, Amy. I'm talking about your heart."Amy Pond was left with the task of making sure Vincent van Gogh was comfortable. The Doctor miscalculated their need for connection, the desire to mend the pain in their hearts, and how one last night for Amy and Vincent isn't enough time to say goodbye.





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

> Set during "Vincent and the Doctor" with allusions to "Cold Blood". From Amy's POV, between the scenes -- too many opportunities to explore what happened at night and more! Originally published on another site as two separate pieces. Now combined as the first in a series. Thanks to tardis-mole for beta reading years ago. All the usual disclaimers (not mine, just fun, etc).

Amy hovered in the room, bracing herself for the Doctor jumping out at them again. After checking the doorway and seeing him head off, that was it. She was alone with Vincent van Gogh. She shouldn't be nervous, right? It was just another one of her and the Doctor's adventures. She looked back at the older man - thirty-seven, if she recalled the expert at Musée d'Orsay. Fifteen years her senior. Not that age mattered to someone like Amy Pond. Thirty-seven or nine-hundred-and-seven - she wasn't put off by older men.

She smiled at Vincent as she sat back down across from him. "What should we do now?" Maybe she could watch him paint or sketch - she did love to see the man work.

Vincent seemed distant after the Doctor took the canvas and ran off. But after a moment, he said, "The Doctor mentioned something about tea? I think I'd need some right about now."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," she agreed, getting up. Something to soothe both their nerves.

Once the tea had been prepared and served, the two sat across from each other in front of the fire. Vincent took one of her hands with his calloused ones, smoothing his thumb over her skin as his eyes fell onto her well-manicured nails. She realized what he was looking at and went into a mild panic. Amy herself didn't know the history of nail polish and wished Vincent would turn his attention elsewhere, back to her hair perhaps. 

"Where'd you say you were from again?" His blue eyes met hers.

"I didn't," she leaned forward, the glow from the fire warming her skin. The Doctor had asserted himself in that conversation earlier due to his (rightful but overbearing) focus on the church before she had the chance to explain that she wasn't from Holland. "I'm from Scotland."

"Scotland?" His eyebrows knit. "You don't sound Scottish."

Right. Amy glanced to the side, trying to figure out how to explain it. She herself wasn't sure of the details other than it was the doing of the TARDIS. She wasn't even aware of it most of the time, perfectly happy that she could understand the people and aliens they had met.

"I've been traveling with the Doctor for some time now. Maybe it's just starting to take its toll."

"You and the Doctor," Vincent repeated to himself before drinking some of his tea. "Are you and he...?"

"What?" Her eyes grew wide as what he was imploring clicked. Amy waved off his suspicion. "No. No no no. We're not... we travel together, that's all."

It wasn't the first time that assumption had been made before. Not that she minded. Isabella's father in Venice had presumed they were engaged as they plotted ways to infiltrate the Calvierri school. Though... thinking back on Venice, it seemed odd that the Doctor would steal her away to a romantic city like Venice after rebuffing her advances. Was there something she missed? Some point he was trying to make about their relationship?

Vincent gave her hand a squeeze. "Are you feeling well, Amy?"

"Huh? Sorry." She shook her head, trying to shake of the weird feeling that wasn't quite deja vu. Was this what prolonged time travel did to humans? Make you feel like there was something you were supposed to remember? But it was at the tip of the brain, fleeting before it was gone. There was something missing, a void. What was she missing? "Did you say something?"

Vincent pressed his lips together in a modest smile, looking down at his tea cup in his free hand. "I said it was good that you weren't engaged to the Doctor."

"Oh," she tucked some hair behind her ear. She wasn't sure she exactly felt the same but the sentiment was very flattering. She grinned. "Thank you. I think."

They sat quietly for a moment, looking at each other before Amy grew nervous. She admired this man as an artist and the Doctor was taking longer than even she had anticipated. She wasn't sure how long it would be until the sun rose but she knew they probably needed some rest before going after the invisible monster at the church. She just hoped the Doctor could find out more about the creature.

She set aside her tea and rested her hand on top of the one that held onto her other. "We should get you to bed."

"What about the Doctor?" Vincent asked.

"Oh, he'll be fine." At least, she assumed so. A knot of worry tightened in her stomach the longer the Doctor was gone, never quite at ease when he was away from her longer than he promised. She learned to trust his judgment after the Weeping Angels, but that didn't mean she couldn't worry about him. "Besides, I promised to take care of you. You should get your rest."

"I don't know if I'll ever sleep after tonight," he said.

"Still, you should try. We've got a big day tomorrow. I could use some shut eye myself." She tried to appeal to him that way. She wasn't sure exactly where she'd rest but now that the Doctor and his impossible train of thought was out of the room, she could afford some sleep.

That was when Vincent surprised her. "Will you keep me company?"

Amy hesitated, looking at him with wide eyes. There were many ways a twenty-first century girl like herself could take that request from a man. But he looked tired and not in the way that sleep could cure. He looked especially lonely, the light from the fire casting a warm glow.

Some part of her knew she shouldn't, that it was uncharted territory but another part of her answered. "Yeah, of course."

"It's just... I don't have too many people who'll listen to me."

She smiled fondly as she recalled earlier, when he was explaining the colors and shapes to the Doctor as she slipped out to admire the paintings hanging from the clothesline. Before the invisible monster had snuck up on her and ruined the evening for all three of them. Though the Doctor had imposed their stay on Vincent, it seemed like the artist enjoyed the rare company. Rare and strange company, indeed.

Still, Amy remembered her childhood, when her aunt made her go to all those psychiatrists and everyone in her school thought she was mad. There was some cathartic justice now that she was traveling with the man they all thought she had made up. What a world of difference it would make if someone would have listened.

"I know what you mean."

She followed after Vincent to his bedroom, where she found her bed in Leadworth dwarfed his. As he removed some external layers of clothing, placing it on the chair next to his bed, she adverted her eyes to the window. She stepped closer, surveying the scene for any sign of the monster or the Doctor. Nothing. Just the sound of Vincent climbing into his bed. She glanced back at him before she kicked off her boots next and softly stepped over to the bed. He had made a spot next to him, his back pressed against the wall to allow for her slender frame.

Really, she probably shouldn't be crawling into bed with Vincent van Gogh. She could just picture the Doctor's reaction to such interference. The scandal alone almost made her smile. There was absolutely no need for her to be there with him - no crying children, no kingdom to save, no secret alien invasion (so they thought). Just a man - a scared man, a mad man - who wanted her company.

The Doctor asked for her to keep him comfortable. Vincent wanted her nearby. It was the least she could do.

Amy stretched her long legs out, still in her outfit as Vincent tossed some blankets over her. She remained on her back, carefully wringing her hair away from him to spare the man from getting attacked by it. As her head hit the pillow she shared with him, she could already feel the weight of exhaustion overcoming her. It had been a long day and, as typical with the Doctor, she spent it mostly on her feet. Paris seemed forever ago as well as her last good sleep before that. Surely if the Doctor or monster came back before sunrise, they'd make a lot of noise to wake them up.

"What's your name?"

Her eyes fluttered open briefly as she turned her head against the pillow, her hazel eyes meeting his icy blue ones across the space between them. She didn't answer right away, not out of self-preservation but out of the tenderness in his voice. She relished the sound of his voice.

She licked her lips before she answered. "Amy. Amy Pond."

"Pond..." he repeated softly and she felt him touch her hair.

Vincent was somewhere else, most likely making one of his color analogies that she'd be enraptured to hear... but sleep was calling her.

She sighed as she shifted on the mattress to get comfortable. She wanted to make sure her skirt stayed properly over her hips but was secretly glad Vincent had thought to cover her up.

"Are you going to watch me fall asleep?" she asked.

There was a pause before he answered. "Does that bother you?"

She shook her head slightly, already going under.

 

* * *

 

She was surprised she fell asleep at all.

The sunlight began to filter into Vincent's modest bedroom, his arm draped across her stomach. Amy stayed at Vincent's side, laying perfectly still as she listened to the outside. Birds began to chirp and there was the low rustle of plants. But Amy wasn't listening for those things. No monster but more concerning, no Doctor. This was very bad. She should get up and go after the lead, right? Secondarily, her mind went to protecting the semi-muscular ginger man next to her. The Doctor did leave in her in charge of his well-being. She would have to-

Interrupting her thoughts was the sonorous snores of Vincent van Gogh.

That must've been what woke her up, she reasoned, flinching at the volume. Right. Her back was starting to ache from not having moved during the few hours of sleep she had managed to steal. This was her reward for playing babysitter, was it? She secretly cursed the Doctor for not returning before her back aches set in.

She gently placed her hand on his arm and slowly moved it to his side. As she carefully removed herself from his bed, he shifted and she was surprised to find his eyes watching her while she pulled herself together.

She stopped looking for her other boot. "What's wrong?"

"You were dreaming," he said as he readjusted his head on the pillow so that he could keep an eye on her.

Dread began to seep into her thoughts. Still, she kept a friendly face. "Yeah? Anything good? Or something absolutely embarrassing?"

But when he purposefully didn't answer her, her fears grew from embarrassment to something darker. She didn't remember dreaming, couldn't recall what had accidentally escaped her lips as she slept. There were so many frightening things on this journey with the Doctor, so many very personal, very private things. She couldn't even voice them out loud to anyone other than the Doctor. She had been scared and the Doctor had pulled her through. Everything had worked itself out. But Vincent looked worried and she was determined to have none of that, if only for her sake.

She sat gently on the edge of the bed and touched his arm. "I'm going to go find the Doctor. I'll be back soon. We'll be back soon. Go back to sleep." He'll need his rest, if Amy's experience helping the Doctor was any indication. Any sleep she could get was a blessing but she wouldn't trade the sleepless adventures for anything.

Impulsively, she leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. He reached up, tentatively resting a hand at her waist as she loomed over him. "Don't go," he whispered, striking her with the simplicity of his request.

There was a monster lurking about that only he could see and she was time traveling with an alien who hadn't made it back by morning. But Vincent wanted her to stay with him.

It left a strange but oddly familiar taste in her mouth, wanting to give into this humble man's requests to keep her but she was itching to find the Doctor.

"I promise I'll come back. You don't have to worry about me," she flashed him a smile before she scooped her boots from next to his bed and headed over to a chair across the room. She slid them on quickly and left his bedroom, heading to where she left her coat and scarf in the main house.

Before van Gogh's house was out of view behind her, she looked back. She hoped he would be okay, that he'd fall back asleep and there would be no surprise monster attack before she could round up the Doctor.

Taking a deep breath, she headed down the alley and prayed she could remember the way back into town, to the TARDIS.


	2. The Second Night

It was in the middle of the night. Vincent van Gogh had invited them back to his home to rest before they left the following morning. The Krafayis had been laid to rest and the three of them could breathe a bittersweet sigh of relief. Except now that the Doctor was sleeping, it was just Amy and Vincent.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen him sleep," Amy whispered across the room to Vincent, who leaned against the doorframe. She stood up straight beside the bench, having just pulled a blanket over the slumbering Doctor.

Vincent smiled at her before ducking through the doorway, waiting for her to follow him.

They stepped from the kitchen into the the next room, surrounded by more of his paintings. It was hard to discern the room's intended purpose - dining room maybe? - when every room served more as storage for his work. She idly rubbed her arms, her coat and scarf in the other room by the fire.

Vincent lit the lantern on the table, casting a low light throughout the room. Her eyes were drawn to the flowers on the canvases. This was better than any show at any gallery, Amy thought as her eyes took in the colors.

He stepped behind her, his arms folded across his chest as he looked at the same painting she did. His arm brushed against her shoulder. "Where will you go?"

She turned her head toward him in response to his question. "Tomorrow?" She looked back at the painting. "I'm not sure. Wherever the Doctor takes us. I guess it doesn't matter where. It always ends up being an adventure."

When Vincent didn't say anything, she turned to him. His head was hung low and he wouldn't look at her.

Amy's brow furrowed as the silence grew longer. "Vincent, what's wrong?"

He shook his head as he pushed past her, exiting through the foyer and into the yard. She glanced back into the room to find the Doctor still sleeping surrounded by paintings. She weighed her choices quickly before she ran after Vincent.

"Vincent!" She hissed into the night, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.

She ducked into the yard, underneath paintings on clotheslines - paintings that would have normally caught her attention but she was seeking the upset artist instead. She found him climbing the steps toward his bedroom, hands through his hair. She hurried over to the staircase.

"Vincent!"

"Go back inside," he waved her off, trying to keep his back toward her. "You're without your coat."

She stomped up the stairs, moving past him and cutting him off. She stood a step above him, her hand against the yellow wall to block that route of escape. "I'll be fine - why won't you tell me what's the matter?"

He shook his head, immediately turning away from her and heading back down the stairs. "You're going to go with the Doctor, far away from here. And you're going to forget me."

"What? No." She followed him down, quick on his heels.

"You can't say that it's not going to happen - it's what always happens. You've both helped me so much and now you're leaving. In time, I'll just be a distant memory until I'm nothing at all."

"Hey... don't say that... We're not going to forget you," Amy stared at him in disbelief. She couldn't say why they would be unable to forget him. It was the unspoken rule of time travel - as River Song aptly put it, no spoilers. But she wanted to reassure him, make him feel better. She had no idea how to do that.

She continued quietly with what she thought was safe. "No one ever could."

Vincent turned to her, his feet on the ground as she stood two steps above him. He looked at her hard for a long moment, his chest heaving as he calmed himself down. Amy grew anxious as she waited for his reaction, shifting her weight between her feet before she took a cautious, deliberate step down toward him, holding her hand out to him.

But instead of taking her hand in his, he grabbed onto her shoulders and pulled her to him.

The kiss was hard, his beard rubbing against her face as she braced herself against him. She caught her balance as his hands moved from her shoulders to her waist. She kissed him back as he moved them, her shoulders hitting the wall behind her. Her hands slid up his chest and her fingers curled against the curve of his neck.

"Vincent..." she breathed, pulling back for a moment to look at him. His eyes roamed her face, her hair as he continued to lean against her. She gulped as she fingered the fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat from his muscles underneath.

Her mind immediately went to the Doctor, the sleeping Doctor. This was probably a bad idea. No, definitely a bad idea. But the Doctor wasn't here to stop her and Vincent pressing against her like that was a welcome distraction from the chill in the air.

"Amy?" Vincent smoothed some of the hair from her face, his voice low.

Oh what the hell. When else was she going to have a chance like this?

She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him back to her, standing on her toes to better kiss him. He leaned into her, pressing her against the wall before she pushed back. She pushed him in the direction of the stairs, toward the exterior door to his bedroom. He took the hint, flashing a grin before taking her hand and leading her up the stairs.

In the dark and out of the cold, Amy was quick to find his embrace. The moon filtering in through the windows as Amy shed her red shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside - next was getting out of those boots. Vincent continued the kiss once she was free of her shirt, peeling back layers of his own clothing. Soon they were freed from most of their clothing, except one troublesome garment that confused the artist. His fingers pawed behind her back with little to no luck.

She smiled, mumbling against his mouth. "Here, let me help." She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra.

They moved across the floor, Amy adjusting to kissing a man with a beard as her feet felt around the darkness. Her hands wandered over his chest and slid over his shoulders. She wrapped her arms around him as he spun her around and pulled her with him as he dropped onto the edge of the bed.

In the dark, he wasn't older than her and she wasn't from the future. The affinity she felt for this man welled in her chest as she climbed into his lap, straddling his hips as they continued their kiss. He pulled her in as he inched from the edge further onto the mattress, leaning back. Her hair spilled forward as he looked up at her, his hands running up her thighs as she sat atop him. Her eyes were wild, hungry. For once she was glad the Doctor was off in the other room and couldn't hear her.

What came out of Vincent's mouth next, however - even Amy couldn't have prepared herself for her reaction.

"You're so beautiful."

She froze as his words sunk in, her jaw starting to tremble. It felt like her heart stopped in her chest, as if the motor wasn't starting. What did he say? Suddenly her mind was far from the act they had barely started, focused purely on the residue of the words long after she had forgotten them.

"I'm sorry..." He pushed himself up, leaning back on his elbows as concern twisted his expression. "Amy, I'm... whatever I said..."

She stopped listening.

Something about his words had unraveled something deep inside her, sadness seeping through her heart and mind. She covered her mouth to try to stifle her emotions - she didn't understand. This man with whom she had formed a connection, this artist she admired more than a century from now - how could his words have this much of an affect?

Her bottom lip began to tremble as Vincent wrapped his arms around her. She didn't come to his bedroom tonight to cry like this. She wanted to seize the night, if only for a brief moment while the Doctor slept - and she had come undone.

On some level, Amy Pond was embarrassed. She held closely the pride of knowing how to charm a man. But in so many words, she was a mess and she didn't even know why.

She shook her head, trying to shake off the melancholy that ruined the moment. He sat up properly, her thighs still on either side of him as he pulled her to him, her cheek against his shoulder. She felt one of his hands run down her bare back, sending shivers down her spine.

"I'm the one who's sorry..." she admitted. She sat up straight to look him in the eye. "I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm not usually like this..."

"You don't have to explain yourself, Amy," he said tenderly. He reached up and brushed a lock of her red hair behind her ear. "Whatever happened to you, it hurts in your soul. I can see it. What you've lost... We don't have to do anything you don't want."

"No, I want to. I really really want to," she insisted as she wiped away the wetness on her cheeks. He must've been talking about the sadness he saw in her the other day. Soldiering on. That's what he said. But from  _what_  was she soldiering on?

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, blinking as she regained her composure. "I'm good." Looking at him and seeing the concern in his expression, she added emphatically, "I'm fine."

And then she kissed him as evidence of her fineness. Whatever reservations he had soon melted away as he deepened the kiss. He leaned forward, his arms tightening around her as he lifted them both off his bed. Her legs slid around his waist as he turned, setting her on her back against the mattress. With one foot planted on the floor beside the bed, he anchored his hips between her legs, looming over her. His hands felt rough against her fair skin, sliding over her stomach and along her waist, tracing the moonlight.

She watched him through her tear-stained lashes, her breathing quickening as he dipped his head down, pressing a kiss between her breasts and moved upward. His lips brushed her collarbone and grazed her neck, leaving a trail of kisses along the way.

Amy couldn't remember a time that she was ever treated this delicately. The Doctor was affectionate toward her, but he certainly didn't touch her like this. Maybe he wanted to, but couldn't bring himself to do it.

She silently cursed herself for even thinking of another man at a moment like this, when Vincent's weight shifted onto her and she grabbed onto him. His carefulness reverberated the sorrow he saw surround her. But it was also exactly what she needed.

"Amy Pond, I'll never forget you," he breathed into the curve of her neck. "Your song will stay with me..."

She blinked back tears as she grabbed onto either side of his head, crushing his mouth to hers.

His hand slipped between her legs and the contact caused her to moan into his mouth, her body arching against his in response. She broke the kiss for some air as he continued, enticing her to let him in, past the walls she had built up. And he was very good at what he did, her hips squirming in anticipation and frustration and desire until he denied her his hand. If he kept this up, she was going to be panting his name.

She felt him press against her and he slid inside slowly, watching her carefully to gauge how he should move. As she relaxed around him, her long legs hung around his waist as he began to move inside her, drawing her out as she forgot about the Krafayis, about her sadness, even about the Doctor for these rare, wonderful moments they built between them. He snaked an arm around her head, protecting her from the headboard as they moved heatedly in tandem. Every paw and nip she took at him extracted her name from the back of his throat, capturing her senses.

Soon her nails dug into his shoulders. Her body twisted underneath him until he brought her to the brink and she lifted her hips to receive him, white flashing behind her eyelids. She groaned as he continued to his own end, his movements amplified by the sensations coursing through her. He spent himself in her, releasing his final strokes before he folded. He stayed perfectly still as he caught his breath, Amy running a hand up his chest and the other over his shoulders.

In the dark, she stared at the ceiling; the sadness still lingered but a strange calmness had washed over her as her breathing evened and the sweat dried.

Once Vincent had evened his breathing, he pushed himself up, looking at her before he untangled himself from her. She bit her bottom lip as her eyes ran over his face and his beard. He smoothed back some of her hair, running the back of a finger along her cheek bone. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but offered a breathless smile instead. He pressed a kiss to her cheek where his finger had been, then the corner of her mouth before gingerly climbing off her and crossing the room.

He stood beside the table to strike a match. He cupped his hand around the opening of the lantern and lit the wick, shaking the match out. He glanced over his shoulder at Amy, who stretched out against the mattress as she waited for him to rejoin her.

Watching him, she wanted to remember this moment, have it imprinted in her mind forever. The artist, with his backside to her while she waited tangled in his sheets.

No, she would never regret this.

He crept back to the mattress, back to Amy. He stretched out against the mattress, propping himself on an elbow to look at her. "Feeling better?"

She pressed her lips into a smile. "Yeah, you?"

He nodded, trailing his fingers up her leg and over her hip before resting his hand on her waist. She put a hand over his, watching him quietly.

She began to push herself up after a moment, tucking some hair behind her ear as she looked down at Vincent. "I should probably head back over, before the Doctor wakes."

"He's lucky to have someone like you."

"You mean, someone that will follow him around everywhere and not do as he says?" She quipped, her voice low. She leaned in, flashing Vincent a secretive look. "I think he likes it."

Vincent laughed as he readjusted the pillow under his head, tucking an arm underneath it. "You're very special, Amy Pond."

"Yeah, well," she leaned down to kiss Vincent on the mouth, letting herself linger for a moment. He wasn't going to let her go that easy though. She muttered against his mouth before she pulled back.

"You," Amy pushed a finger into his shoulder, pushing him back down toward the mattress. "Are making it very hard for me to get out of bed."

"That's the point," Vincent grinned. That grin almost cost her her motivation to leave this room.

She maneuvered over him, stumbling slightly as her feet caught themselves on the floor. Vincent rolled over to watch her as she moved around the room, collecting her clothing as she retraced their earlier steps.

Once she had all the pieces, she began to dress herself, her back toward Vincent. She heard him move behind her, the mattress creaking and his feet padding across the floor. She pulled her shirt back over her head, tugging it down over has so that it covered the top of her skirt.

"I wish I could convince you to stay. Both of you. But especially you."

Amy turned to the man who wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. She knew he was referring to more than just tonight but her heart thudded faster with him being so close to her. She forced a small smile.

"I know. I wish you could, too."

He felt for her hand, grasping it in his before pulling it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her palm. "Go see to the Doctor. I will see both of you off in the morning."

She had to remove herself from him or else she wouldn't find the courage to leave. That, or the Doctor would find them and Amy didn't want any lectures on interfering to ruin her time with the artist.

"I'll see you soon," she said, resisting the urge to kiss him before she showed herself out.

Slowly dropping down the stairs into the crisp night air, Amy tightly crossed her arms across her chest. She breathed in deeply as she stood outside for a few moments longer. Her eyes were immediately drawn upward to the sky. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She could stand out here without worry of some invisible Krafayis but there were heavier things weighing on Amy's shoulders now.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the light go dark in the window of Vincent's bedroom. She watched the window for a couple more minutes, thinking how she'd never really look at paintings of his bedroom the same way again.

Crossing the yard and ducking under some paintings, she headed back to the main house. She pushed the door open, slipping past the threshold into the house.

She couldn't be sure how long she had been gone with Vincent but she didn't expect the Doctor to sleep that long. Everything she gathered from spending time with him on the TARDIS, he didn't require much sleep. Not that he had time for any, flitting between the big days.

Her brows furrowed as she stepped into the kitchen's doorway, spying the fireplace. The bench was empty. There was no Doctor, the blanket which he had commandeered folded up neatly.

"Doctor?"

"There you are," the Doctor's voice came from behind her, causing Amy to nearly jump out of her skin.


	3. The Day After

"You scared me," Amy hissed at the Doctor, pressing a hand to her chest. It seemed to be a common theme here in 1890. They kept startling the other. Her heart beat against her rib cage as she sank down on the bench.

The Doctor didn't say anything right away. He moved past her, a couple fire logs under his arm and one in his hand. The fire popped as he pushed a log into the burning embers. Her eyes settled on the fire he rebuilt. The Doctor stood to his full height as he stared into the fire.

Her eyes lingered on the Doctor's shoulders. A million things ran through her mind as her pulse slowed. Could he tell where she's been? Was it obvious what she and Vincent did while the Doctor slept? How long had he'd been awake? How much sleep do Time Lords even need? She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it.

He spoke instead. "How's Vincent?"

He knew. Of course, he knew. Here it was — the big lecture: How Amy Pond Should Stop Messing with History. It was fine when he did it, but not when she felt connected to someone who would become renowned for his paintings. She forced her expression to remain blank, desperate not to betray the extent of her time with Vincent.

The Doctor waited as if he expected her to say something. When Amy refused, he continued. "I should've said something before now," the Doctor said, his voice low. "At first, I thought it harmless, the way you two looked at each other, with the eyes and the flirting. He'd have to be blind not to be mad about you, equally mad Amy Pond. I should've warned you about the risks —"

"Risks like taking him to face the Krafayis?" she spat. The Doctor had said himself that their mission was dangerous. He had tried to get Vincent to stay outside the church but that did not work out according to his plan. And they all ended up just fine. "Vincent can make his own decisions. I can make my own decisions —"

The Doctor turned to face her, his expression solemn. "This isn't about history, Amy. I'm talking about your heart."

Her nostrils flared and she blinked back sudden tears. As the sadness swept over her senses, she was unsure if the cause was the scolding, concern, or something she's forgotten. The way that the Doctor looked at her brought to mind several things: how she had been inexplicably been crying, how Vincent's words undid her. Then there was one more piece left over from their earlier visit to the Musée d'Orsay.

"Why are you worried? For the same reason you've been so nice to me lately?"

She saw it in the briefest flash across the Doctor's face — he wasn't telling her everything. She wanted to shake him, get him to spill whatever had been troubling him. She was missing something. Something big. Something that caused a hole in her chest. Something that made her relate to Vincent and want to comfort him. Something that made her receptive to the artist's attention.

The Doctor stepped toward her. "We'll be leaving in a few hours. You should try to get some rest."

"I can sleep on the TARDIS," she insisted. "Tell me what's going on —"

He cupped her head and ran a thumb against her orange locks, the way he always did when he was indulging her or being affectionate. But this time it was to shut her up. She didn't like it when he got that serious look his face and evaded her questions. She didn't like feeling as if she were his responsibility.

"Doctor —"

"Shhhh," he soothed her. Words eluded her and he pressed a plain kiss on her forehead. He then left her alone in the room by the fire. As much as she wanted to follow after him and argue, part of her didn't want to talk to him anymore about Vincent. Or her heart.

If only she could figure out what she had been missing, what caused her to soldier on...

* * *

"— and if you tire of this Doctor of yours, return! And we will have children by the dozen."

Amy Pond grimaced, playfully dodging Vincent's offer. But as they said goodbye that morning, the thought of how she would make so many children with Vincent left her a bit breathless. She was acutely aware of the Doctor's attention during her last moments with Vincent. It was great to say goodbye to Vincent while he was in a good mood.

The morning was bright and beautiful as the Provencal countryside. The Doctor and Amy departed from the Yellow House. If the Doctor said anything to her, she brushed it off with an aloof comment. Maybe they could stop by that cafe before they left 1890. One foot in front of the other.

But the Doctor gave her a strange look. Then he called out to Vincent, announcing he had something to show the artist.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. "Doctor?" Amy prompted.

"What's the point of time travel if we can't help people," the Doctor said. His tone was playful but there was underlying melancholy to his words. Before Amy could ask him to elaborate, Vincent joined them. The Doctor clapped his hands and rubbed his palms together, his plan falling into place. He then stalked off in the direction where they left the TARDIS.

Vincent van Gogh, now properly dressed, stood beside Amy outside his home. He glanced between the departing Doctor and her. "What's he on about now?"

Amy stared after the Doctor. The implication at what he was doing sank in. Hope swelled in her chest and her face broke out into a grin. She turned to Vincent and grabbed his hand. "Come on."

If the Doctor wanted to show Vincent all the wonderful things he would accomplish, she didn't want the Doctor to have a chance to change his mind...

* * *

"When you said my paintings were precious to you —" Vincent stammered, blinking back the tears.

"I meant it," Amy Pond said with conviction.

It was 2010 and they stood near the restrooms in the Musée d'Orsay. As soon as Dr. Black had finished his assessment of van Gogh, the trio departed the exhibit. Vincent's eyes were red and wet, calming down from the revelation.

The emotion in his eyes as he looked at her, as if his gaze was searing into her soul, caused something to tighten in her chest. She swallowed and glanced around for the Doctor. He hovered around the corner. She could see a sliver of tweed and that floppy hair of his peeking around the wall's edge. She suspected that the Doctor was giving them a little breathing room so Amy could comfort someone who was new to the wonders of time travel.

"Is this where you're from?"

Vincent's question pulled Amy's attention back to him. Her eyes met his. "Yes. Well, not Paris. But yeah. 2010."

"Traveling with the Doctor... is it always like this?"

"Yeah. And so much more." Her smile grew wider. She could go on about the adventures she had, the emotions that came with the travel and spending time with her best friend. Even if she was suspicious the Doctor wasn't telling her the whole truth, her unconditional fondness for the man shined. How could she even begin to put it into words? "It's wonderful, dangerous, scary, amazing —"

"I can see why you're with him."

The despondent echoes returned to Vincent's words. They just showed him a fraction of the world's adoration for him and the artist focused on why Amy was staying with the Doctor.

After trying to extract something from the Doctor, being with a man who so willingly displayed his emotions was a welcome change for her. But Vincent's moods could change suddenly. It was part of his madness. She wanted to comfort him, build him up, but not tiptoe around what made her Amy Pond. She only wished Vincent didn't see their travels as abandoning him...

* * *

Amy Pond wasn't ready to let Vincent van Gogh go home yet. They could return him to the exact moment they whisked him away — he didn't need to go home right this minute.

The artist had been understandably quiet since they returned to the TARDIS. Finding out how the world would one day love him was a lot to take in, given his current loneliness. When she offered to show him the amenities within the blue box, he had half-heartedly agreed. The Doctor's eyes followed them as she led Vincent up the stairs, out of the control room, and further into the TARDIS.

Now in the library, any enthusiasm she felt dwindled when he didn't respond with his earlier curiosity.

"You don't seem interested in the library, or the swimming pool. Is everything all right?" She asked, moving away from the doorway to where he stood in the center of the reading room. It stood on the edge of the Olympic-sized swimming pool. "Do you want us to take you home?"

He shook his head and after a few false starts, he finally said something. "Thank you for today. I wish there were some way I could repay you for your kindness."

"It was no kindness. It was the truth."

Vincent's eyes remained on the water. "Amy Pond..." he trailed off, rubbing his beard.

"Yeah?"

"I'll never see you again."

It was most likely true. But time travel was tricky and she didn't want to write off the possibility. "You don't know that —"

"What could a lonely artist like me offer a woman who's already been given the stars?" He blinked back tears Amy finally saw. A lump formed in the back of her throat as he continued. "The thought of never seeing you again, never meeting with you as your lover —"

"Shut up," Amy breathed. She closed the distance between them, kissing him hard.

Vincent reacted with the emotions built up over the day. One hand grabbed the back of her neck and the other slid around her waist, crushing her body against his. Her fingers clutched his jacket, pulling him closer.

She wanted to kiss him when she saw him that morning, leave him with something sweet and teasing. She wanted to kiss him in the museum, make him forget the onslaught of new information. Last night had been about seizing the moment. Perhaps it would have been easier to let him leave if they hadn't had last night. She wouldn't know what she would be missing. By the swimming pool in the library, Amy kissed Vincent goodbye.

Their goodbye intensified andshe knew what room she wanted to show him. She pulled back, breathing heavy. Her eyes roamed his face and she cupped his cheek.

"Follow me," Amy whispered, taking his hand and leading him out of the library.

She led him down a maze of corridors, filled with doors to rooms filled with the most unusual assortment of belongings. Memories of past companions, possibly. Or stuff the Doctor collected along the way. Her room was hidden down one corridor. Christmas lights she had commandeered from the Doctor were strung up on the wall. Clothes were draped over furniture. The bed was unmade. It was a little piece of home as she and the Doctor wandered across the universe.

Vincent was less interested in her room. He embraced her, pulling her back against his chest. If Amy felt any apprehension about stealing him away to her room, while the Doctor waited, it melted when she saw Vincent in the mirror. The reflection of him standing behind her, kissing her neck and feeling her curves made it hard to breathe.

His eyes met hers through the mirror and she saw the intent in their blueness. He undressed her, not letting her turn around to reciprocate the favor. He teased and coaxed her. Her gut coiled as he brought her to the brink then denied her. She whined in protest, arching against him. The scratchy fabric of his clothes rubbed her bare skin as she writhed against him. A sound rattled in the back of his throat as she moved her hips against him. He pushed her down on her bed and quickly removed his own clothes.

Before Amy could crawl closer to him, he settled behind her and held her in place. His chest pressed against her back. She felt him move against her, and angled her hips to receive him. His hand gripped her hip as he guided himself inside of her. He kissed the nape of her neck, running the bridge of his nose behind her ear. He drove into her slowly, whispering notions of their life together and promises of how he'd love her just as he loved her right now. Pure, carnal devotion. Kindred souls. He'd show her the stars. The stars' beauty did not compare to hers. Her eyes fluttered as him and his words sent her spiraling.

He must have felt her nearing; his pace quickened and she squirmed against his hold, desperate for more control. Then all the pent-up emotions and sensations building up inside her exploded. Breathing heavy into her hair and neck, he moved and repositioned their bodies. He was careful not to pull out of her as they rolled and she settled face down against her sheets. He remained still, buried inside of her as she finished shuddering around him. Then he moved inside her again.

Amy wanted to shout from the top of the world — to the museum visitors, to the villagers that ostracized him — that this man had other skills than his painting. And those needed to be lauded just as much. If he asked her right now to stay with him in 1890, she'd seriously consider it.

As she regained strength in her legs, she braced herself against the mattress, pushed her backside against him to meet his rhythm full force. She rose up on her hands and arched her back as one of his hands circling her waist and the other sliding up between her shoulder blades. He thrust into her, repeatedly, pulling her back to him.

Then Vincent abruptly stopped, pulling out and leaving her empty. She whimpered, looking over her shoulder to see what was holding him up. He shook with restraint, still hard and watched her carefully. His chest heaved and she saw the lust in his heavy-lidded eyes.

She knew that look and she grinned, her tongue catching in her teeth. She changed her position, stretching out on the bed and leaning back. His blue eyes studied her, memorized her. She opened herself wide to receive him and an animalistic sound came out of him. He hovered over her, grabbing onto her legs to pull her underneath him.

"I'll never forget you," Amy breathed the words as he filled her again. She relished in the fullness, her hips swaying to feel him completely. She pressed her lips against his ear. "I'll never forget today."

Today. Stretched Between 1890 and 2010. He touched his forehead to hers. She paid close attention to nuances of his expression, his blue eyes locked on her hazel ones as he lost himself in her. A mix of emotions swelled inside of her, captivated by the artist so enraptured by her that it turned her on.

She knew she was going to come again, could feel it rising inside of her, bucked her hips to finish once more. White flashed and she cried out, her body twisting underneath his. A sound rumbled in his chest, deep and primal as he moved faster. He groaned into her collarbone, burying himself deep inside of her. Amy continued to quiver around him as he came.

As their bodies cooled and hearts slowed, they remained tangled for several minutes. Vincent lifted his head from her shoulder and stroked her hair from her face. He traced her cheek and jaw with his calloused fingers. He started to pull away from her but she latched her legs against his hips to keep him for a moment longer. Finally, he rolled off of her and onto his back.

She pushed herself up, tucking hair behind her ear and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then his shoulder. "We should head back to the control room — the Doctor's probably waiting on us to finish the tour."

"To take me back to the village."

For the first time since Vincent mentioned them leaving him, sadness was absent from his voice. Instead, he sounded content. Sated. She smiled and didn't think twice before she climbed on top of him, straddling him. His favorite artist — beneath her and happy. It made her feel like the most important girl in the universe. "I expect to see all those paintings you haven't gotten a chance to paint yet. They better be on those walls when I get back to 2010."

"Or you'll come back and check on me?"

Amy evaded his question.

Vincent sat up, pressing kisses against her skin as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I imagine the only way to keep you for myself is to put you on canvas. But then you'd end up on the wall of a museum. And I wouldn't want to share you with anyone else. Except maybe your Doctor."

Amy was fairly sure Vincent's comment was harmless. But given her current state of undress and what she just did with Vincent van Gogh in the TARDIS, her brain couldn't process that statement. She slid off of his lap. He relented and climbed out of her bed. She watched him dress; he remained aware that her eyes were on him. Only once he shrugged on his coat did Amy retrieved her clothes.

As she pulled on her shirt over her head, the memory of her first night on the TARDIS came back to her. How would Vincent fare if he got a view of space? He painted stars, breathed life and emotion into them through oil on canvas. Would the Doctor grant him one more concession, the chance to see such beauty from the perch of the TARDIS doors?

Amy wanted to stand by Vincent's side when they opened the blue doors.

Before they left her room, she asked. "Would you like to see the stars?"

* * *

"Come on, let's go back to the gallery right now..."

Amy Pond disappeared into the TARDIS, leaving Vincent van Gogh in his place in history. She took the steps to the controls two at a time. She practically jumped on the Doctor's back, making sure he entered the correct coordinates — Paris, Musée d'Orsay, 2010.

On some level, she knew she should hold onto the memory of the time she spent with Vincent van Gogh. But it wasn't enough. She wanted to see if their stolen moments made a difference, if brand new paintings waited for her on museum walls. They brought him to the stars. They showed him a world that revered his life's work.

She wanted to believe that the Doctor's decision to interfere with history and show Vincent how he'll never be forgotten meant he could one day tell her what she was missing from her own heart. Her faith in the Doctor restored, she realized it never really went anywhere. This Time Lord of hers knew her, through and through. He sought to protect her from the heartache of loving a doomed artist and gave her the hope that the artist's life — and the history of art - was forever changed by their actions today.

"Time can be rewritten. I know it can!"

The high Amy felt was so wonderful as her heart soared. She was the triumphant heroine. Her boots hit the ground running as soon as the TARDIS landed in 2010. She bounded into the Musée d'Orsay, through its glass doors. The Doctor's demeanor changed as he followed her upstairs. The more optimistic she shined, the more reserved he became.

But when they returned to the van Gogh exhibit, she overheard Dr. Black. Her face fell and a dead weight slid onto her chest. She then turned, seeking out the Doctor who watched her carefully.

"So you were right — no new paintings..."

In a quick moment, she felt unimportant, stupid, useless. What had they accomplished? Nothing. Vincent van Gogh still took his own life when his time came. Did he feel alone in death? Was he convinced he was abandoned? She was a naive child, thinking they made a true difference.

The Doctor comforted her, soothed her with the right words. He chased away despair that threatened her precarious heart. When he pointed the absence of the Krafayis from the Church of Auvers, her heart continued to hurt. The reason they were drawn to 1890 had been removed. They were no longer needed.

But then, she saw the sunflowers.

For Amy...

Maybe the Doctor was right. They made their mark on Vincent's heart, added to his pile of good things. Just as Vincent had done for her. She took a deep breath, smiling through the tears. Today, she reminded herself, was brighter than sunflowers...

She will soldier on.

**End.**


End file.
